


Taken

by EasyTiga



Series: Easy Tiga's Thirst Tweets [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Choking, Come as Lube, Dean Winchester is Obsessed with Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Facials, Handcuffs, Jealous Dean Winchester, Kidnapped Sam Winchester, Kidnapping, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Possessive Behavior, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Subspace, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: Sam confessed to Dean that he fantasises about Dean kidnapping him and "raping" him to pull the focus from Dean when he was embarrassed about something. One week later, Sam's thrown into the back of some van, unable to see and has no idea where he's going.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Easy Tiga's Thirst Tweets [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935295
Comments: 10
Kudos: 227





	Taken

**Author's Note:**

> I've never engaged in rape fantasy, so I don't know how this normally goes. Um. I hope you like it, lol. 
> 
> I don't know why, but I find crazy, obsessed Dean to be kind of adorable... 
> 
> In case it isn't made clear, Sam is FULLY on board with what is happening. 
> 
> Enjoy the read!

Sam checks his left and right. Nothing. Where is Dean? Why did he ask him to meet him here so late? He removes his phone from his pocket to unlock it, opens up the chat between him and his idiot brother, an exasperated set to his lips as he starts typing another message, letting him know that he’s here and waiting for him.

Just as he’s about to hit send, his vision darkens. Something has settled over his head, Sam’s arms rising up to wrestle with it, feet kicking out as he’s dragged backwards, a firm presence behind him. He starts flailing with his legs, sounds of frustration suffocated by the sack around his head. Whoever it is is no slouch.

His feet drag along the ground, heels digging in an effort to stagger his assailant. He struggles further, hips twisting, stopped in motion by a harsh jerk that temporarily gives him pause. After a beat, he fights the hold on him again, gasping when he’s spun and bent over a hard surface.

Sam’s arms are wrenched behind his back before he can do anything to stop them, the rough texture of rope coiling around his wrists. He tries to break out of the grip, writhing and kicking back. The assailant dodges then kicks his legs out and steps between them, one hand on the back of his neck, squeezing in warning.

Sam stills, the heat from his breaths filling the bag making him sweat, a wealth of fear settling in his nerves as the stranger pulls him back by his jeans. There’s a hard pressure against his ass, and that’s when he starts to freak out.

His mind and body reject the presence, thoughts of nothing but _no_ and _wrong_ and _not for them_ racing through his mind as he tries to thrust his hips back. It doesn’t work. They tighten the grip on the back of his neck, keep him pinned with one knee at the bottom of his spine, grinding into him as Sam hears the tell-tale signs of the rope securing into place.

It’s a really good knot. Sam can’t even wriggle, can’t do anything but buck and writhe and grit his teeth as he’s yanked back against a firm chest. That’s when he hears deep, nasal breathing. He thinks he recognizes it, but his brain doesn’t have time to catch up, body squirming, recoiling as a wet tongue drags over the side of his neck, surprisingly gentle hands caressing his hip before he’s dragged a couple of meters.

Sam focuses on what he can feel around him. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s gone in blind. Literally. If he said that out loud, Dean would probably be oddly proud of him, and isn’t that a disturbing thought.

_Shit._

_Dean._ Dean is going to have the freak out of the century if he turns up and Sam isn’t here waiting for him.

An opportunity will come. It has to. He’s banking on it. Any second now, he’ll be given the out that he needs to get away from whoever this is. He has to say, they’re the least vocal adversary he’s ever come up against. Sam’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Maybe he should start talking? If he can get them to understand the mistake that they’re making, maybe they’ll think better of it?

It’s worth a shot, if anything.

He hears a door opening. It’s now or never. 

“You’re making a mistake, y’know? My brother is on his way here, and when he sees that I’m not where he told me to meet him, he’s gonna be seriously pissed and—”

Sam grunts as he’s folded into something. A van, maybe. It smells new. Not that Sam’s been in many vans.

“You can untie me, let me go, and nothing bad has to happen. Make the right decision. You don’t want to do this; he will take his time, slowly torturing you until you’re begging for him to kill you—you don’t know my brother—you don’t know what he’s capable of—”

The doors slam shut. Two doors. It’s got to be a van. He’s in a van with a man and he has no idea who he is, what he wants, why he’s even here—shit.

An engine roars to life. They’re going somewhere, then. Sam takes stock, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart and the sudden need to wet himself. That would add a whole other level of humiliation to this already sky-high pile of crap he’s gotten himself into.

Left. Right. Two lefts. Stop.

Sam’s not sure why he’s keeping track. He has no idea where they are. But maybe if he can escape and get to a phone, he can call Dean and tell him where he is, if he hasn’t wasted the son of a bitch before then.

The longer he’s stuck in this position, the more a feeling of dread consumes him. There’s nothing he can latch onto to break these binds. He can’t get the bag off his head worth a damn so he can get some idea as to where he is or what’s around him in what he assumes is the back of the van.

Calling out doesn’t get him anywhere, bumps in the road jostling his body.

Okay. He’s tied up in the back of a van, on his way somewhere. Yeah, it’s not looking too good for him, at this point. Considering what he’s been through it could be worse. That lick is lingering in his mind though, and the pressure of something hard and most certainly interested pressed up against his ass isn’t helping matters at all.

It fills him with revulsion, mind whirring, body churning at the mere thought of anyone other than Dean touching him in that way, having him in that way, tasting him in that way.

Three rights and a left.

Wherever they are, it’s bumpy. Really bumpy. So bumpy that it’s a wonder Sam hasn’t made his way over to the side of the van, for it to bash his head in. Maybe that would have been better than the alternative? Who’s to say, really? All Sam knows is he doesn’t want to know what happens when the van stops, for good.

Sam tries to count in his head the amount of time it’s taken for them to get from A to B. He struggles after the 27th minute, fingers flexing, body twisting. He wonders if Dean’s shown up to the spot yet, if he’s pacing back and forth or snatching any random sucker off the street and demanding to know if they’ve seen him. It’s such a Dean thing to do that Sam actually laughs.

He’s trapped in a van with a man he doesn’t know and he’s laughing. Is psychosis supposed to set in this quickly? Sam doesn’t have a clue. Not that it matters.

The van stops. For good this time, apparently. The engine cuts, a door opens. Sam hears feet trudging along gravel, and then he’s being manoeuvred backwards. He starts kicking, turning his body this way and that, trying to back away or knock the guy’s teeth out. He lands a hit on the stomach. His prize is a seemingly practised move that has him face down on the bed of the van, wriggling and groaning as he’s dragged back, a firm grip on his waistband and the rope binding his hands together.

“I’m tellin’ you, man. You will regret this.”

Shove.

“We can still go our separate ways.”

Shove, shove, pin.

Sam hears a door unlock.

Shove.

“You don’t have to do this. Be reasonable about this. Either you—”

For the life of him, Sam tries to fight, hands connecting with no amount of success, ropes slipping from his wrists, but he’s being locked down on what he assumes is a bed before he has the chance to defend himself.

By the end of it, he’s breathing harshly, and he’s actually starting to worry that this isn’t one he’s getting out of.

And then the bag comes off his head, and he’s met with green eyes.

Familiar, adoring green eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna have to hurt you. You’re okay, right? You’re not sore anywhere? Do you… Um… Need me to give you a rub down?”

Okay.

So.

This is happening.

“The ropes were too tight, weren’t they? Dammit! I thought I picked ones that wouldn’t chafe. I’m sorry I had to do it this way, I really am, but I wanted our first time to be romantic. I know how you like to be chased.”

Uh-huh.

Interesting.

“You looked so beautiful, standing there, looking at your phone. Were you hoping it was me texting you? I sure was. God. I wanted to kiss you on the spot. I didn’t, though. Well, you know that. Of course you know that. You were there. Sorry I scared you, sweetheart.”

Sam’s gonna need just a little more.

“I really am sorry I had to be so rough with you. I admit I was a little nervous. It turned out okay, though. You’re here now. That’s what matters, don’t it? That we’re together. At last.”

A spike of arousal has Sam’s cock twitching in his jeans. Dean’s really… He really… Well, two can play at this game.

“What are you talking about?”

Dean tenses, head tilting to the side.

“Us? Y’know, I whisk you off your feet, take you away and show you a whole new world? It’s the little game we’ve been playing this whole time. To be honest, I’m glad we’re finally moving on to the fun stuff. Not that I was getting bored or anything. I could never get bored of staring at your pretty face.”

Sam swallows, tests the binds.

“Game? This is a game to you? You think stealing me off the street, tieing me up and bringing me here against my will is a game? This is some sick version of cat and mouse to you?”

“Woah, easy, Tiger. Don’t pull on your ropes so much. You’ll hurt yourself,” Dean says, pushing down on his chest. He pulls his shirt up over his head then and settles against Sam’s side, nosing his neck and splaying his hand over his chest. “Mmm. Warm. Just like I knew you’d be. That big heart of yours is just full of love, ain’t it?”

“What? Don’t touch me.”

“Very funny, sweetheart,” Dean replies, and Sam hears the eyeroll. He tests his binds again. “I said don’t tug on them.” Dean’s hand is on his chin then, turning his head, anger in his eyes as he stares him down. Then, it disappears, like it was never there, a thumb stroking over his lip, dipping in to gather some spit. Sam watches Dean bring it to his own mouth and suck it off with a wet pop, groaning low in his throat. “Mmm. Tastes like you. My favorite.”

Dean moves to put his finger inside Sam’s mouth again. Sam clamps his jaw shut and turns his head away, not expecting Dean to lean over him, bringing them face to face. “Playin’ hard to get again, huh? That’s okay. I’ve been patient so far, but I really would like to taste your gorgeous lips. How ‘bout it, Sammy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam grits, embarrassed by his own state of arousal when Dean gets a nice, solid grip on his jaw, prying his mouth open so he can lick his way inside, drawing his tongue out to suck on it. A moan reverberates through Sam’s cavern, whirring in his throat, and he swallows, Dean’s eyes unfocused on his while he slow-drags his lips over Sam’s tongue.

“Mmm. Better than I imagined. So warm, too. I can’t wait to find out how it feels around my cock,” Dean says sweetly, stroking a thumb over Sam’s cheek and booping him on the nose. Sam doesn’t know if he should be impressed or annoyed by that, mind and body in dispute as Dean nuzzles his neck and starts licking the sweat off his flesh, rocking into him, rolling his hips, and pushing his face into him like he’s on heat, teeth scraping his skin, full lips drawing blood up to the surface as a hand palms and kneads his clothed cock and balls.

“Stop that—get away from me. I don’t want this—none of it,” Sam says, breathless, willing his body not to thrust against Dean’s hand for some much-needed relief.

“It was cute the first couple of times, baby boy, but it’s gettin’ a ‘lil on my nerves now. Just let me love you, yeah?”

“No. I don’t want you to love me. I want you to untie me and let me go. If you really love me, you’ll do that.”

Dean stops his ministrations, rises up onto his knees and stares down at him, a confused arch to his brow. He bites his lip, then, hands shaking.

“You don’t mean that. This is just part of your game. You can’t mean that. No, you can’t. That’s not possible. We’re meant to be together, Sammy. Why else would you look at me that way? Why else would you wink at me from across that bar all those times, telling me with your actions that this is what you wanted? _Why_ else, huh?”

Sam narrows his eyes.

“Winked at you? What are you talking about, you psycho? I never winked at you.”

A genuine look of confusion passes over Dean’s face.

“Yes, you did. You did. I saw you do it. You looked at me, our eyes met… You did that cute dimpled smile that you do and winked at me. I remember it vividly, so it must’ve happened, right?” This seems to have soothed him, head pitching down to scent Sam’s neck. “Mmm. I love that you smell like me now, sweetheart.”

Dean starts kissing him again, trailing up to his ear, licking over the shell, breath whisper-soft. The rope creaks, Sam’s fingers curling into his hands from their outstretched position, hips lifting off the bed, testing the security of the ropes on his ankles. How Dean managed to subdue him so quickly, Sam has no idea. He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t turned on by Dean’s commitment to the bit, a hand sneaking under his shirt, crawling up his front while Dean tells him how long he’s dreamed about this moment, about all the things he’s fantasised about them doing.

“Exactly! It’s all in your head. I don’t love you—I don’t even know you… Please, just… Let me go.” There’s a fearful note to his voice, though he’s trying to remain _unfettered._ Dean catches the change in inflexion, shushing him with a hand in his hair, fingers caressing him down to the roots, massaging him, whisky-rough voice telling him it’s going to be okay, that he’s _safe_ with him, that he’s not going to hurt him. “You _are_ hurting me. Please—”

“Oh, baby. Don’t cry now,” Dean croons, licking a fresh tear-track off Sam’s face on one side, then catching the other one on the tip of his tongue. He gives him Eskimo kisses then, mouthing his unresponsive lips, acting as if Sam’s really getting into it, moaning into the kiss, grinding down against him, telling him that’s just how he likes it, that Sam knows him so well. “I knew you’d give me the best kisses, Sammy. I just knew it.”

“You’re crazy. What is wrong with you?” Sam spits, striving to buck Dean off of him. That’s when his head snaps to the side, a shocked gasp leaving him. His cock throbs in his jeans and heat floods his system. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna hurt me…”

Dean makes a noise of distress then.

“No… No, no, no, no! Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that—you were just struggling so much and I didn’t know what to do,” Dean tells him, taking his face in his hands, turning him towards him to kiss his reddening cheek, bottom half settling heavier on top of him. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Sam hopes that it does.

“I don’t believe you—just, please stop,” Sam protests, shaking his head side to side, angling to break out of Dean’s grip. Calloused fingers grind into his jaw then, green eyes full of malice boring into his own.

“Why do you keep asking me to stop? This isn’t what you wanted? This isn’t what you asked for all of those times we sat there sharing looks with each other? I did everything you wanted—I did everything right, so why are you asking me to stop, Sammy? Huh?”

The mean look in Dean’s eyes doesn’t dissipate as he reaches behind him and runs the fingers of his other hand up the length of Sam’s clothed dick backwards, the reverence belying the look of dissatisfaction on Dean’s face. Sam watches with bated breath, mouth pried open by a strong hand. Dean palms him and squeezes, licking his lips slowly.

“Your friend here seems to be fine with what I’m doing,” Dean replies, slapping Sam again and gripping his jaw twice as hard. Sam’s cock twitches under his hold. “I get it. This is an act, right? You pretend to be scared of me and shit because it gets you off. That’s okay. I can roll with that, sweetheart, even if you are a kinky little bastard,” he adds, winking at him, leaning down to lick into Sam’s wide-open mouth. “I mean, I honestly don’t _want_ to hurt you, but if that’s what you need, I’ll give you what you want.”

Sam swallows, the action made harder by the firm grip keeping him in place.

“How about we put your pretty mouth to good use then, since you like to run it so much?” In a flash, Dean’s jeans and boxers are tucked under his balls and the thick head of his cock is balanced on Sam’s bottom lip. Sam’s eyes glaze over, noises crawling up his throat but nothing comes out as Dean gags him with his cock. “I don’t know if I can give you everything you want, baby boy, but I’ll try my best, okay?” Dean drags his cock out and fucks back in, filling out Sam’s throat. “Fuck. Your mouth feels amazing.”

While Dean forces himself down Sam’s throat, pulling back wet and slick, Sam thrusts up, kicks his legs and pulls harder on his restraints, somewhat disgusted with how much he’s getting off on this. Dean pumps his hips, cock coming back wetter each time, spit running down his balls, pelting Sam’s chin as he fucks back in, telling Sam how hot and moist his mouth is, how he can’t wait to find out how his other hole feels, and Sam fucking loses it.

Sam’s cock pulses and jumps in his jeans, and he almost cries when a thick spurt pumps out into his underwear, followed by another four pulses. He keens low in his throat, eyes squeezing shut, arms going limp, legs stuttering to a halt while Dean buries himself to the hilt, holding. He doesn’t know that Sam’s creamed his jeans—doesn’t know that Sam’s not sure if he regrets what they’re doing, not sure he wants to find out how much further this can go.

Dean continues to not notice, striking his cheek with little taps as he fucks in and out of his mouth, gripping the base of his cock to really draw out the drag of his crown across Sam’s tongue.

“Mmm, yeah. You like when I feed you my big, fat cock don’tcha, Sammy?” Dean says, leering. Then, “Is that good? You want me to be meaner? I don’t know how mean I can be, but I can do it—for you, because I love you and you’re special to me.”

He pulls out of Sam’s mouth, then, Sam coughing at the release.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks, “Stop! Just stop, please. Let me go. I don’t want this. Listen to me—I. Don’t. Want. This.”

“Meaner? Got it,” Dean replies, winking at him before bottoming out in Sam’s throat again after a struggle. “Look at you, choking on my dick? It’s like you were made to do this. Made to take it like a good bitch.”

Sam swallows around his mouthful, appalled that he’s already getting hard again. Dean shames him, tells him he’s a greedy, cock hungry whore as he brutally fucks his face, trapping a bunch of hair in his hands to pull Sam onto each thrust. Sam can feel his Adam’s apple lifting with each drag back, and he’s never been more turned on in his life, breathing what little he can through his nose, trying to force his head back—Dean tightens his grip, fucks harder, balls slapping Sam’s chin, spit spilling out of his mouth and down to follow the collum of his neck.

Then Dean’s hands move to his throat, barely-there touch as he slows down his downward thrust. There’s a stroke, a knife comes out of Dean’s back pocket. Switchblade. It flips open. Sam has a moment of dread that he’s actually anticipating a cut. Dean doesn’t cut him. He releases his arms, giving Sam the chance to fight back.

In a flurry of moves, Sam shoves Dean back after ducking out of his raises shirt, grapples for the knife. Dean acts confused, dazed that this is even happening, telling Sam he thought they were passed this part.

“Look, I can dig it as much as the next guy, but come on, Sam,” Dean says, feigning exasperation as he tactfully releases Sam’s legs, flips him onto his front, settles on his hips, arm bending under his neck, applying a small amount of pressure to his windpipe. “Shush, shush, shush. Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Get off’a me! Stop it! Let me go—please… Please stop,” Sam shouts, throat tight and used, fingers gripping the sheets, releasing them from their hold around the mattress. They bunch up, he bucks up in an effort to dislodge Dean. Nothing. Dean leans in, licks the shell of his ear, tells him they’re just getting started, and Sam wails, protesting the shoving of his face into the wet sheet, ass shifting and pressing down as Dean struggles to work his jeans passed his ass. “No, please. Don’t do it—”

“Enough, Sam,” Dean snaps, wrenching his jeans down so they pool by his ankles. A sharp sting resonates on the flesh of his ass from the force of Dean’s hand coming down on it. He does it again. Sam releases a glob of pre-come onto the sheet, red-faced while Dean pummels his ass, rough fingers spreading his cheeks apart. “Christ. Look at that. Practically begging for it.”

Sam shudders, excitement coursing through him, mixed with the real fear from the side of his brain that is starting to believe this is real, fueling him to reach out for anything he can latch onto, eyes going wide when the snick of cuffs registers in his ears, one locking around his right wrist. He fights the next one, twisting, turning, but Dean moves with him, like he’s been doing this all of his life, a click of his tongue sending shivers down Sam’s spine when Dean finally yanks his other arm behind his back and secures them in place.

“Obviously, it was a mistake to let you out of your binds. I mean, dude, it might be fun to keep up that constant fight some other time, but I thought our first time would be… y’know, a little less dramatic?” Dean waxes poetic, sliding off the bed to shuck out of his jeans and underwear, shirt lost somewhere along the way. He settles on Sam’s thighs, groaning with want as he bends and rubs his face between Sam’s cheeks, snuffling and mewling. “I’ve been waitin’ for this. Best ass I’ve ever seen. Beautiful. I bet it tastes as good as any pie,” Dean comments, licking over Sam’s hole, breath catching as he vibrates. “Oh yeah… That’s the stuff.”

“You’re sick—you need help… Please, don’t do this—”

“Oh, right. You prefer it _this_ way,” Dean grumbles, sighing. “Look at your little hole, Sammy, just starving for my cock. But I’m not gonna give you what you want. Not yet. I’ve waited too long not to savor the moment, if you catch my drift.”

Sam’s ass clenches, cock rubbing against the sheets.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about him.” A grunt leaves Sam’s throat as he’s drawn up onto his knees, Dean’s hand reaching between his legs to grasp his cock and stroke down to the leaking tip. He pulls it back, then, and Sam’s hips cant, body squirming from the wet drag of Dean’s tongue from his crown to his hole. Dean does it again, and again, Sam keeping up the act each time—screaming that he doesn’t want this, to leave him alone, to let him go. “ _Sure_ you want me to stop. _Sure_ you want me to let you go. _Sure_ you want this to be over with, but _this_ says otherwise,” Dean says, tilting Sam’s cock up and lowering his mouth onto it, making obscene sucking noises, moaning along the length of him.

When Dean’s lips flirt with the skin of his balls, Sam bites the sheets and screams, the hand on his locked wrists stopping him from pitching forward out of the silky hot embrace. Dean shifts a little, one hand keeping him angled so he can bob his head, slurping, flattening his tongue so Sam experiences the slow, tenuous drag over the sensitive head of his cock. His hips twitch, his ass throbs, and Dean suckles on the tip, telling him he wants that cream he’s been dreaming about, lapping at the slit, humming on and around Sam until he’s releasing over Dean’s cheek.

Dean continues to mouth him, cleaning off the parts he missed, swiping off the thick spools on his face and smearing Sam’s hole with it.

“Just think, Sammy… When I come inside you, both of us’ll be in there,” Dean husks, slapping both of Sam’s cheeks. He jiggles, arousal and embarrassment warring in his mind as Dean slides a finger into the root. “Not your first time, is it?”

“Why… why are you doing this? If you need someone to talk to, I—I know people, okay? I can get you the help that you need… Please—”

Dean makes a sound of frustration behind him, shoves two fingers third-knuckle deep in his ass and crooks them down while he leans forward, hooks his arm around Sam’s throat and pulls him back until he’s lined up with his chest. Hot breaths pass over his ear, a rumble in Dean’s throat.

“I asked you a question,” he whispers, sliding his fingers out until they’re hooked on Sam’s rim. Sam shakes, lips quaking as Dean stabs them back in, passing over his prostate as he goes, applying more pressure to his throat. “And you better damn-well answer it.”

“Wha—”

“Answer—” _Stab. “_ the _—” Drag. “_ fucking _—” Choke. “_ question! _”_

Sam can feel his own come sticking to his shoulder as Dean bites down on him and fucks his fingers in harder, arm loosening to get his hand around Sam’s throat, squeezing and pulling back with each hard shove inside him.

“I—don’t know—what—”

“How many _cocks_ have you let inside you before me?” Dean rephrases, and Sam’s blood goes cold at the ice in his voice. His movements gentle then, kisses peppering up to his neck, repeats of no that mirror his own while the hand disappears from his throat and the fingers in his ass slow down, gently massaging over his prostate. “Sorry, sweetheart—I didn’t mean to get so carried away. It’s just that… You—no. I can’t make excuses. This is on me,” he continues, lips soft and measured over Sam’s pulse point, light licks and soft sucks that have Sam pushing back onto him unconsciously while he cries for him to stop.

“It’s okay. Not to worry. I’ll fix it. I’ll just be the best that you’ve ever had. Yeah, that sounds reasonable,” Dean says, and Sam feels more _lube_ at his hole, so Dean must have gathered more. When he feels the blunt, eager tip at his hole and his wet cheek laid out on the bed, he starts screaming, begging for Dean not to do it. “Now, now, baby. Don’t you worry. I’m gonna fix you right up. It’s gonna be amazin’. You’ll see.”

Dean starts pushing in, a steady hold on Sam’s cuffed-wrists while he goes, spouting nonsensical babble about how long he’s waited, how amazing it feels, how he can’t wait to do this night after night, until he’s bottoming out in Sam’s ass, heavy balls sticking to his taint. Dean’s left-hand joins his right hand, using the leverage to start up a brutal pace, Sam’s cock already drooling onto the bed even as he clenches and cries out.

“Mmm. So tight for me, baby. So wet for me, too. Can’t believe I finally get to do this.”

“Stop—stop… Please…”

“Give it a rest, sweetheart,” Dean intones, smacking his ass. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Sam’s body is a mess of confusion, unconsciously rocking back onto every thrust of Dean’s hips that fills him out and rubs him in all the right ways, his hands flexing, toes curling as Dean drives into him over and over, commenting on how good it feels, how he wants to do this forever, how he’s so glad they finally did this. His cock leaks continuously, crown swollen and sore from the constant abuse. His throat aches, sounding more like broken glass is lodged in his throat with each pathetic scream, made null by the slap of Dean’s thighs against his, fingers digging into his wrists, bitten of groans and grunts behind him.

He can hear Dean’s breathing getting shot, can feel him losing his rhythm. And he’s stopped screaming, stopped doing anything. Everything fades. He falls into a quiet acceptance, eyes glazed over, mind a constant foggy night while Dean fucks him hard and dirty, the squelch of his own cum obscene, along with the filth running from Dean’s mouth, mixed with _love_ and _adoration._

There’s no telling when he fell, when he drifted off into this plain of nothingness while Dean had his way with him, when his limbs gave out, when his cock released another stream of cum that dirtied the already soiled sheets. He _feels_ the clench of his hole with each spurt, but he can’t tell where it is, in that moment, content to just let Dean do what he wants, punched out breaths the only proof that he’s actually real, at this point.

He thinks maybe he’s still saying something. Some word of protest that he has on loop, or a collection of them. It’s hard to say. He feels the drag inside him, feels the pressure against his G-spot, feels the weight of Dean barrelling into him, but he also can’t tell where it ends or begins. More of an echo. A memory? A feeling? A moment? He doesn’t know, but he loses himself in it, like it’s a song known only to him, letting Dean use his body, take his pleasure, turn Sam inside out and stop when he’s good and ready.

How long it lasts is a mystery to him, a moment of bliss registering in his mind when he feels Dean’s cock swelling and draining in his channel, five times over, Dean’s grip on hips slipping, blunt nails leaving crescent moon shapes on his flesh as Dean rides the aftershocks, breathing absolutely broken.

Sam doesn’t move when the cuffs are released. Doesn’t flinch while Dean works the kinks out of his limbs and cleans him up. He’s talking. Sam’s not listening, still flowing down the creek of ignorance, loose and pliant while Dean turns him this way and that, talking, talking, talking. Nothing comes through. Or, if it does, it doesn’t stay long.

When senses start to come back online, he feels the pressure of Dean’s arms around him, squeezing briefly, soft lips on his neck, sweeps of fingers along his naked flesh, soothing notes poured into his ear like warm honey.

“Dean…”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

Sam turns his head enough to take in his eyes. “Sorry… I totally spaced.”

“It’s okay. Are you… okay?”

“Yeah. Just… You really went for it.”

Dean bites his lip then, a sheepish set to his eyes.

“I wanted it to be good for you. When you told me how you wanted it, I took lots of mental notes, wrote them down later, did lots of research. Hell, I think I spent more time researching this than I have any of the cases we’ve been on.”

“Honestly? I didn’t think you’d do it.”

Dean noses his cheek and kisses him softly. “If you haven’t learned by now, I’m not gonna bother tellin’ ya’.”

Sam thinks about it, smiles to himself. “Me too, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to participate in the next vote, make sure you visit my twitter page here: https://twitter.com/JackleConda 
> 
> That's where I post the polls, so keep that in mind ^^ 
> 
> I was really nervous about this one, however, I also enjoyed writing it. LOL


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